see me here
by shriveledwankclaw
Summary: He takes a photo, and it doesn't say a thousand words, really, but it says enough, and it hits some part of himself that doesn't forget. And doesn't want to. AU.
1. Chapter 1

Enjolras tried - barely - to bury his cold hands in his shallow pockets, but gave up after only one try. His exposed skin stung as he walked down the street, and he silently cursed the glove-drawer at him and his roommate, Marius', apartment. There were never any gloves or mitts that seemed to match - and if they did, they belonged to Marius' girlfriend, Cosette. Or maybe he'd been too damn distracted to bother to look harder for a matching pair. No matter, Enjolras managed to walk fairly fast in the cold weather, doing his best to keep from slipping on the ice underneath him, his camera bag strapped across his chest and over his shoulder.

He was on his way to _Jean Lamarque maison due femmes et enfants_ - a homeless shelter specifically meant for women and children. For nearly two months at the time, Enjolras had been taking photographs of homeless people - men, women, children, even animals - for his Photography course at University. They were all to be a part of his final thesis, though it was proving difficult to piece them all together.

Enjolras walked down the street early that morning, having left his apartment just after five A.M., leading him to be walking down the Rue Belgrand of the Right Bank at just after six A.M. He knew the drill of the majority of the shelters in Paris - or thought he did - due to making his rounds to a number of them. People would be let in late at night, and would be pushed out of the doors in the morning. Despite generally planning ahead for, well, anything, Enjolras had neglected to ask how early the doors were opened in the morning. He supposed six in the morning would be a safe time. Perhaps a bit early, but Enjolras was nothing if not punctual. Or a bit of a show-off.

He walked up the steps of the home, grasping the cold, metal knocker in his hand, slamming it down onto the door. Within a few seconds, a woman - who he assumed he'd made the plans with - answered the door, shushing him as she allowed him inside. Enjolras rubbed his hands together, feeling the familiar burn as they thawed. "You're Madame Dubois, correct? I believe I spoke with you on the phone regarding -"

The woman nodded, eyeing his shoes. Enjolras nodded, his mouth forming an 'o' with realization. "Right, sorry." He leaned down, pulling his leather shoes off of his feet. Looking back at Madame Dubois, he held his shoes in his hands. "Where should I -"

"Anywhere," she nodded, finally smiling up at Enjolras. He placed them down on the ground by the door. The wrinkles under her eyes and by her smile were kind, curving her soft face upwards. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur. Though you are a bit earlier than I'd been expecting."

Enjolras nodded, becoming increasingly embarrassed regarding his rather brave decision to show up so earlier. It didn't even sound like anyone in the house was up; the main hallway was empty. "I'm sorry about that - exit times for different places are -"

"Different." Dubois waved him off, beginning to walk past him. He moved quickly, stepping alongside her eagerly. "No matter. We've already got one up. She's a rather… interesting character."

Enjolras raised his eyebrows in question, but the old woman seemed to prefer the idea of keeping it a surprise. Madame Dubois lead him through a number of rooms, finally ending with them entering the dining area - and then, finally, the kitchen. It was rather plain; the wallpaper on the walls were a plaid combination of a light, baby blue and an egg-white colour. The counter was scrubbed clean, despite some stains and residue remaining. The table and the three chairs around it were a plain white and plastic. At the table, her back turned to them, was a woman, her back to Enjolras, with long hair and an oversized jacket. She held - literally - a half-full bowl of cereal in front of her, her arms cradling it in front of her as if somebody might snatch it. Despite the empty kitchen, the empty table, the empty chairs, the empty dining hall. As far as he could tell, she was the only resident awake.

"'Ponine, fillette, manners," Madame Dubois tsk-ed at the woman, shaking and pointing her finger at "'Ponine". She crossed the room to the counter, pulling bowls out of drawers, eggs out of the fridge, beginning to work away quickly. "We've got a guest."

The woman scoffed, her mouth muffled as if full. Enjolras crossed the room in an attempt to help Dubois, but turned to face 'Ponine, startling himself. Her face, seemingly on the edge of emaciated, was angular with slight curved edges. Her lips were thin, her nose big and turned upward at the end. Her eyes, huge and dark, were focused on her food. The girl, who, despite the purple under her eyes, didn't look over 18, had dimples, Enjolras noticed as she chewed down on her food. Her face, while perhaps frightening in places, was beautiful in some sort of way. Or maybe it was just fascinating - it wasn't a face like any he'd seen before.

The girl looked up at him for a moment, but quickly moved her eyes to Madame Dubois' back. "Why's he here?" 'Ponine gestured to Enjolras with her spoon, asking as if he wasn't there.

Dubois didn't turn around, seemingly used to the girl's random, seemingly intentionally rude questions. "He takes photos of homeless people - women, men, children. The like."

"I'd take a photo of you, if I could. If you'd let me," Enjolras nearly stuttered, continuing on from how Dubois had introduced him. And suddenly, he just wanted to take a photo of this girl. He wanted to better learn the angles of her face - how her hair, dull and dry, would look under a different light.

'Ponine looked up as she chewed loudly, her dimples showing through each time she crunched down on her cereal. She squinted at him for a moment, and then, as if he was of no concern to her, focused on her bowl again.

"'Ponine," Madame Dubois scolded from the counter. "Be polite."

'Ponine didn't turn back to look at the woman, and didn't look at Enjolras, either. She shrugged her shoulders, raising her hands up. "I didn't say anything, did I?"

"'Ponine."

'Ponine looked directly at Enjolras, causing him to realize he'd been staring at her. "I didn't say anything, did I?" He felt as if she was challenging him.

He coughed. "Madame Dubois, she really didn't. Truthfully."

Madame Dubois shook her head from where she stood - Enjolras didn't see, his eyes still focused on 'Ponine. There was a moment of near-silence, wherein the only noise in the room was 'Ponine's loud chewing.

"What do I get out of it?" the girl piped up.

Enjolras narrowed his eyes at her, trying to keep his lips from turning up into a smirk.

"You won't be stuck with the itchy blanket," Madame Dubois piped up from behind Enjolras. Turning away from 'Ponine since the first time he'd seen her, he glanced at the old woman, grinning.

'Ponine considered the offer for a moment. "I won't be stuck in a room with Lucille anymore, either."

Dubois shrugged, nodding her head. "Play nice, 'Ponine."

The girl moved remarkably quickly for such a small person - she picked up the cereal bowl from the table, holding it like a cup to her lips, sipping down the remaining milk. Wiping her mouth with her hand, she left the bowl on the counter. In another second, she was at the doorway of the kitchen, on the verge of stepping over. 'Ponine turned back to look at Enjolras, her eyes wide, excited. Enjolras wondered if it'd been long since she'd had her photo taken - or if it'd just been long since she'd gotten her way. He doubted the latter. Enjolras followed after her, hands on his camera bag. He turned back to Madame Dubois, a gracious smile on his face.

"All my thanks, Madame." Enjolras nodded politely in acknowledgement.

"No problem at all, Monsieur. Mon dieu - good luck with her. Tell her to behave. And that I expect to see her tonight. Oui?"

Enjolras nodded again, smile fading as he followed after 'Ponine, who was digging through a pile of her and the other residents' shoes, thinking obscenities aloud.

* * *

'Ponine walked ahead of Enjolras, her feet quick. It gave him the chance to evaluate her without the girl judging him for it, which was something, at least. She seemed to wear boys clothes - a newspaper boy cap, an oversized trench coat, baggy pants. Her skinny hips barely visible under her attire, he supposed if it weren't for the long face and the feminine features, she could easily pass as a boy.

"'Ponine?" Enjolras talked after walking behind the girl silently for a few minutes. Despite enjoying the opportunity to freely evaluate her, he wanted to know what he was getting into. The girl turned, as if annoyed by the interruption of her daydreams. "Where are we going?"

She continued to stare at him for a moment. "Éponine," she said loudly.

Enjolras raised his hands, confused. "Okay?" She continued to stare at him, her eyebrows furrowing. "Wait - your name?" Éponine nodded slowly.

"Call me that. Don't call me 'Ponine."

Enjolras nodded, following dumbly behind Éponine as she began walking. He was annoyed - but altogether too confused to question why he hadn't received an answer. Or to question why he was allowing her to lead him around.

After a few minutes longer of trailing behind Éponine, the sun growing higher and brighter in the sky, she turned back around to face him.

"We're going to the factory, by the way. Since you asked so nicely."

She smirked, her step quickening as if only she understands what that - the factory - meant, and Enjolras had to stop himself from groaning.

* * *

Hey, guys! I'm back with my second E/É fic. This one will be a number of chapters long - I'm not really sure how long it'll be just yet, but I have some ideas on where I want to eventually go with it. I didn't really edit this chapter much, so I'm sure it's overrunning with pacing issues, as well as other problems.

The base idea of this story was inspired by 'Afghan Girl', the 1985 National Geographic photo of Sharbat Gula. It was taken by Steve McCurry. As well, the title of this fic, 'See Me Here', is based on one of Éponine's lyrics in One Day More - "_what a life I might have known / but he never saw me there_".

I'll probably have the second chapter of this up quite soon - by the end of this coming weekend, at the latest.

X


	2. Chapter 2

Here I am with Chapter 2! I'm sorry this update took so long - my muse has been all over the place. You guys have been so awesome with reviews just for the first chapter! I'm not sure how I feel about parts of this chapter, but a new character (!) is introduced, and the main point of the story is introduced, as well. Hope you guys enjoy it. (As well, I know that characters should be different, as it's modern day, but if you feel like anything is strikingly OOC, please let me know!)  
As well, to clear up a question posed by Warblette, this story is set in modern day - i.e. Paris in 2013.

x

Éponine walked ahead of Enjolras, leaving him to follow behind her blindly. The two of them walked, a skip in Éponine's clumsy step, Enjolras' quick feet moving at a steady pace. It took them some time to reach the 'factory' - the odd cars were out now, along with some wanderers in business suits making their way down sidewalks. Enjolras did his best to avoid the looks people shot him and Éponine - some looked amused by the two, while some took the opportunity to quietly disapprove. (Really, though, Enjolras liked the stares - had ever since he'd gone against his parent's wishes. It gave him a sense of power, as if he was so good to not care what they thought.)

The two of them turned onto a side-street - then another, then another, another. They neared the Seine - Enjolras could see it in the distance. By the time they reached what looked like an abandoned building bordering on the Seine, it took Éponine's shoulder in Enjolras' side to stop him from walking. He looked at her first, eyebrows furrowed in confusion (and frustration and anger and impatience), but then his eyes moved to the large, grey building in front of them. After a moment of evaluating it, Enjolras turned his eyes back to Éponine. He pointed at it.

"This it?"

"Oui," Éponine grinned wickedly, thin lips turned up mischievously. "This is it."

Enjolras waited another moment by the street, eyes stuck to the building. It's sides were sloped and nearly bumpy with wear - the grey of it looked ready to peel off like old wallpaper. It was an ugly old thing - a wonder, in Enjolras' mind, that it hadn't yet been knocked down by the city.

Éponine ran ahead of Enjolras, oversized jacket flapping around her sides in the wind. She rushed up along the side of the building - grass nearly gray spurts out randomly and sparsely on the edges of the building. Enjolras followed along, eyes kept on the building. In the back of his mind, he was frightened - Éponine could be leading Enjolras into a trap easily. He's easy bait, after all, as proven by him following at the girl's heels like a lost pup.

The girl grabbed a handle Enjolras didn't even notice, walking sideways with her hands still gripping it. The wall moved - a huge, wide door that went along nearly the expanse of the building. Enjolras whistled mockingly. Éponine seemed to pretend not to hear.

The door opened to reveal a fairly sparse building. The only correct word to describe it, in Enjolras' mind, was abandoned. While large, there was not much around the floor-space of the 'factory'. In one corner, there was a pile of small blankets. A metal stair case in another corner - though Enjolras was't sure he'd trust his own weight on it.

Despite the abandoned and ugly nature of the place, along the back wall of the building - the side facing the Seine - there was a large window; nearly as wide as the wall. Cracked, stained and graffitied; none of that matters. The window seemed to have the same effect as it would if clean - it brings a sort of fascinating light to the place.

Enjolras looked to his side to find Éponine grinning up at him - at once, he could tell her lips were turned up in mocking, and he shrugged her off, shaking his head. Out of his bag, Enjolras grabbed his camera. Éponine stared at it a moment.

"Nice thing," she nodded in acknowledgement.

Enjolras shrugged, removing the lens cover from it.

"Is it film?"

Enjolras nodded, looking back up at Éponine. Her eyebrows were furrowed. "Why?"

"Just very -" Éponine seemed to have a moment of an internal struggle, wherein she debated between chewing down the words or biting them out. In the end, her sharp tongue won out. "_Artistic_ of you, that's all." She shrugged her jacket tighter around herself - the place, while a fantastic location, was freezing, with only metal walls to keep it warm.

Enjolras chose not to respond - he had decided to get the photo done with as soon as possible, and then to go on his way.

Enjolras, despite himself, couldn't resist asking her a question, though. "How'd you find this place? The 'factory'?"

Éponine seemed pleased at his curiosity. "M'brother lives here. Him and a couple of his mates." She pointed at the blankets, and then above them - where the untrustworthy staircase lead to. Enjolras wanted to ask more, but just nodded. "His name's Gavroche," Éponine went on, seemingly eager for his attention. "He's been out even longer than I have, really, even though he's younger. He couldn't make the same money I could." At this, Éponine looked down, eyes closing shut. Enjolras wasn't sure what to do - what was she playing at? But she seemed to be awake again in no time, though uncomfortable. "Where should I go for the photo?"

Enjolras shrugged, adjusting the filters on his camera. "That's up to you." She nodded awkwardly.

"Right. Yeah. Okay…" she mumbled to herself as she looked around the building. Enjolras choked down a groan - even when doing absolutely nothing, she couldn't manage to stop talking.

In the end, after a moment's search, Éponine leaned against a pillar in the middle of the room. A skinny arm stretched out to hold herself up, and her other arm hung at her side. While her body faced the front of the factory, her face was turned to the Seine, and Enjolras settled in front of her, facing the Seine. Two hands on the small camera, he focused the lens and readied himself to press down on the shutter button.

At the last moment, just as the shutter button made a faint clicking noise, Éponine turned her head to face Enjolras. He waited a moment, ensuring no further quick movements ruin the photo, and then Enjolras stuffed the camera back into his bag, zipping it shut. He did not say anything to Éponine, going through his motions. _She couldn't even take a simple picture_, he thought, anger settling into his cold bones. _Is it that difficult for her to do one simple thing?_

He turned to walk out of the factory, feet moving quickly, but Éponine follows.

"Enjolras?" She said loudly, voice rough.

He did not answer; he continued walking quickly, hand on his bag, least she makes the decision to steal it. Enjolras supposed he shouldn't put it past her.

"M'sieur?" Éponine said loudly. Her low voice cracked.

Again, he did not respond. He was out of the factory and back on the street quickly, but Éponine followed along. Enjolras pretended not to hear her footsteps, but could not do any ignoring when Éponine ran in front of him, stopping him from walking.

He raised his eyebrows in mocking, breathing heavy. "Yes?"

Éponine was breathless - not from the run, but from a combination of anger and confusion.

"Why did you just walk away?"

"I got the photo." It was the only response Enjolras could think of given the state of his anger, though it was pathetic. Later, he would reprimand himself for not thinking of something more clever. His anger, even, seemed to be irrational and misdirected, but it burned in him, and he was easily privy to it.

Éponine's eyebrows furrowed, and she frowned at the ground. "Yes." She paused, again seeming to argue with herself, and then nodded curtly. "Yes. Salut, then."

The girl walked back towards the factory quickly, arms holding her jacket shut, and Enjolras took a moment to collect himself, to remind himself to not feel guilty.

He was annoyed and angry and tired, so, despite the tugging sensation in his belly telling him go back and see this girl, he walked back to his apartment. Enjolras didn't count on seeing her again; unless he went back to the Lamarque shelter again to take a photo of someone else, it was unlikely the two would ever run into one another in a city large as Paris. Enjolras was thankful for that small comfort - the idea of seeing this girl again made him feel slightly queasy.

Enjolras tucked his hands inside his jacket pockets, and walked on.

He did not know it yet, but he would regret this.

x

Later that night, Enjolras and one of his roommates (and self-appointed and declared wingman), Courfeyrac, walked back to the camera store, where his film was being developed.

"You're so impatient," Courfeyrac whined.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but didn't respond. He knew the argument would go nowhere.

"Seriously! You took those photos today! What's the goddamn rush, Chief?"

Enjolras choked down his annoyance - it still hadn't simmered down from his encounter with Éponine. "I just want to get my photos, Courf."

His friend raised his hands in surrender, but grinned in victory. Between him and Marius, annoying Enjolras was a game well-played.

The two arrived at the store, and waited by the counter as the clerk fetched the photos from the back room.

"What'd you say the girl's name was?" Courfeyrac asked it casually, but Enjolras knew that nothing was casual with Courfeyrac. Not when it came to Enjolras and girls.

"Éponine."

Courf nodded, beginning to kick his foot against the counter with impatience.

"She cute?"

Enjolras was looking at the ground, but could hear the smile in Courfeyrac's voice. He shook his head.

Courfeyrac paused his kicking, and leaned against the counter. "_Really_?"

"Yes, _really_," Enjolras bit out. "Is it so hard to believe I don't fancy an annoying, immature, likely insane homeless gi -"

"Hey!" Courf interrupted. "_You're_ the one always on about them being people, too. Equal rights, all of that."

Enjolras did not respond.

The clerk returned with the photos in a small, laminated envelope. Enjolras paid his money, and the two left. He even allowed Courfeyrac to take the envelope to scan through the photos - it would, if nothing else, keep him entertained. The two began to walk to Cosette's, their roommate's girlfriend, apartment - Marius was there, and the four of them would leave from there to eat dinner with friends of theirs.

"Fingers only -" Enjolras began.

"On corners, I know, I know," Courfeyrac waved him off.

The two then walked in silence, Courfeyrac amused and Enjolras brimming over with annoyance.

The two were nearly at Cosette's apartment when it happened. Courfeyrac had slipped the photos back into Enjolras' hands - all casual. He waited a moment and then, seemingly out of nowhere, smacked Enjolras on the back of his head - hard.

"You _fucking_ liar!" Courfeyrac nearly shouted.

Enjolras, ready to punch his friend, wiped at the back of his head, groaning in pain. "Excuse me?"

Courfeyrac shook his head, stubborn and amused. "Excusez-_fucking_-moi!"

Enjolras straightened himself out, cracking his neck. "I remain confused." _And pissed off_, he thought.

"She's a fucking fox!" Courfeyrac seemed scandalized by this information, his mouth hanging open.

Enjolras looked up at Courfeyrac, eyes narrowed. "You - you just assaulted me -" Enjolras paused here, breathing out heavily. "Because you think Éponine is hot?"

Courfeyrac shook his head. "Enjolras. Seriously." Under his breath, Enjolras could hear him mumble.

Courfeyrac snatched the envelope from Enjolras impatiently, flipping through the photos. (His fingers strayed from the edges, Enjolras noted.) He thrusted a photo into Enjolras' face, and Enjolras grabbed the print before Courfeyrac could do any further damage.

Enjolras looked down at it, seeing the photo of Éponine for the first time.

What he saw is very overwhelming to him - it was harrowing and beautiful and a bit frightening and ugly and he couldn't look away. Enjolras' breath caught in his throat, and he had the sensation of vomit rising at the back of his throat. The photo he thought destroyed by Éponine's moving was - without a doubt - the best shot he'd ever taken, though Courfeyrac's main concern was her being a 'fox'. Her turning her head towards the lens left it a shot of only her upper torso and face. Her tanned, sun-worn skin shone through, despite her mangled hair. The effect of her features - both beautiful and ugly all at once - was profound on camera. The cheekbones, the eyes, the lips. Her face was sunken in and pointed, the edges of it sharp as her tongue.

She is beautiful. Ugly, too, maybe, but beautiful all the same. The photo is beautiful. Enjolras knew it is this way because of Éponine - all of his photos are quality just because of the subject. He wanted to know her all of a sudden, wanted to ask about the brother who lived in the factory, about why he left, about everything. Despite this sudden want to get to know the girl, though, Enjolras remained angry with her for a reason he couldn't vocalize. The photo he held was something special - if he made it anywhere, he was sure the photograph would be the reason for it. Guilt swells in his belly - he owes Éponine quite a bit.

"I was so fucking right," Courfeyrac boasted, his left fist in the air, his smile triumphant.

Enjolras looked down at the photo, studying it for another moment. It was beautiful and ugly frightening and he didn't want to look away.

Enjolras shook his head. Under his breath, he murmured the word.

"Fuck."


End file.
